


i was gonna say i love you (i've done worse)

by metsuryuogi



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gilbert is an IT nerd and Anne can't work a computer to save her life, they know each other but they don't know that they know each other, you will listen to how much i love ruby and moody and you will LIKE it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metsuryuogi/pseuds/metsuryuogi
Summary: "If Ruby and Diana are asking, then Anne has no idea why the sight of the error sign on her University's login has her giddy. Maybe she's a masochist and likes turning in all of her assignments late.If her own curiosity is asking, it's probably because the student tech support she keeps getting assigned to from the school's IT help-chat might be her soulmate, even though she has no earthly clue who he is."Anne and Gilbert do not see eye to eye. All they need is to see each other from a new perspective.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 94
Kudos: 327





	i was gonna say i love you (i've done worse)

**Author's Note:**

> YO
> 
> A quick couple of things before we get down to it:
> 
> 1\. I want to dedicate this to the Storybook Club. You guys are fantastic, amazing, and hilarious people and I'm so happy to be friends with you. I am as obsessed with you as Nick is with Gatsby (you'll understand once you read), like seriously obsessed.
> 
> 2\. Thanks to the amazing, lovely, talented Rachel (@writergirl8) for beta reading this. The feedback and ideas you gave made this fic what it is in its final form and I cannot thank you enough for it. I'm so grateful.
> 
> 3\. This is a love story to my university. I can't believe I'm saying this but since I can't be there this semester I've been missing it. So, if you go to a certain eastern seaboard university with a turtle mascot know that I'm thinking about the 7/11 on Knox, Stamp, and the radio station above South Dining.
> 
> title is from an unfortunate mishearing of the lyrics from 2Shy by Shura. I liked my version better lol.

Anne has never put much stock into the idea of karma, but when she hears the low beats of her neighbor's sickening sad boy music at 1am through the thin walls of her dorm, she decides _that_ must be the soundtrack for karmic retribution. 

Yes, it is true that she did the exact same thing the night before. 

Yes, it is true that when Gilbert Blythe knocked on her door to tell her to keep it down, she stared blankly back at him and shut the door in his face. She might have even turned the volume up a bit—or, a lot—just to piss him off. 

But that is looking at the situation with _such_ a one-dimensional lens. It hardly does the feud any justice. 

Anne only did it because he and Moody stole her contraband candles, which of course, he only did because she told the RA he had a portable AC in his dorm. Something she only did— well, it's entirely useless to go through their entire petty history because it all stems from the root-vegetable-that-must-not-be-named-tablet-smashing-conflict that was definitely _not_ her fault. 

Not... entirely her fault. 

It's not like the music is stopping her from sleeping— she has a midterm paper due tomorrow, but she hates Gilbert with a passion; therefore, she has to hate every single thing associated with him just as passionately. 

Anne swiftly gets up from her desk and bursts out of her room, knocking on his door a brief ten times in a row to get his attention. 

She glares at the colorful name-deck that is plastered on the fading, old wood (it's shaped like Mickey Mouse, which she thinks is ironic because the devil lives in this very room) until he opens the door, and she can stare him down more properly. 

He's standing there with that smug, stupid, conniving face of his, so she knows he looked in the peephole before opening the door. His hair is messier than usual (a feat she thought impossible) _,_ and his eyes are betraying his critical lack of sleep. She gets a sense of satisfaction in knowing that she's not the only one struggling with midterms. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?" he smiles, and it's nauseating.

"Oh, I'm sure it _is_ a pleasure _,_ Gilbert," she says with a sweet venom in her voice, "but would you be a _doll_ and turn that music down? I'm afraid it'll drive me to tears."

"Huh, that's funny," he nods, head tilted and eyes toward the ceiling in thought, "I could've sworn that when I asked you to turn down your music last night you said, and I quote, 'get lost, Blythe.'"

"I wouldn't say that's a direct quote, more like paraphrasing."

Gilbert laughs as he leans against the doorframe. She hates the way he always treats this as some sort of game, so she tries to make this quick.

"Listen, can you just turn it down? I have a paper due tomorrow." 

"I had an orgo midterm today, and that didn't seem to matter to you," he says, bringing up his arms to cross against his chest. 

"It didn't matter to me," she confirms, mirroring his movements, while inwardly hating how vitriolic the conversation has become. 

"Then why should yours matter to me?" 

His eyebrows are furrowed, nose scrunched up slightly, and she has to ignore the fact he looks less like the devil and more like a disheartened puppy. 

_No, Anne, no mercy for the enemy. Deliver the final blow._

She opens her mouth to bite back, but before she can, Josie slams her door open across the hall. 

"How about you _both_ shut up!" she shouts in that harsh tone of hers, waving her phone in the air as if they could see the screen. "The entire third-floor groupchat is talking shit about you two as we speak." 

They stare at Josie— clad in her purple, fluffy robe and a green face mask that coats her entire face— then back at each other before Anne huffs and stomps back into her room. 

"Nice chat!" Gilbert calls behind her, voice muffled as the door slams closed. 

"He is so infuriating!" She groans to no one in particular, pacing back in forth in her room that's practically a glorified closet. 

She stands still, seething at the wall that they share with her fists balled at her sides, hoping he can feel her hatred seeping through. 

There's a single moment of doubt when she remembers what Matthew always told her: hating people is a waste of time when there are so many better things to feel. Though she must take after Marilla when it comes to holding impossible and ridiculous grudges, and really, she's okay with that. There are far worse people to be similar to than Marilla. 

Anne marches back to her desk and plops down, opening her computer in the hope that she will finish writing, but she can still hear the music pulsating through the walls. He's moved on to “Drive” by The Cars,and she knows it must be on purpose. 

She's been really working on her sudden outbursts of anger— like _really,_ working on them— but the combination of Gilbert Blythe, his dismal playlist, and the midterm essay on _Gatsby_ she's barely made a dent in makes her bring her head down hard on the keyboard. It hurts more than she expected, and the keys are definitely going to leave strange red marks across her forehead. It's moments like these where she's somewhat grateful she lives in a single dorm. If Diana was her roommate, they'd definitely have a conversation about Anne's coping mechanisms and how they're _"not exactly the healthiest,"_ as her best friend so sweetly claims. 

When she pulls her head back up, she's expecting an unreadable keyboard smash all over her document, but instead, she's faced with a blank screen that reads back _no file available._

"No," she cries, "no, no, no, this _cannot_ be happening to me right now." 

And just like that, the essay is gone without a trace. 

She searches through her school files and even her personal files for the elusive _Gatsby_ essay she saved as _"Intellectual BS'ing,"_ but comes up completely short. She can't just take the loss here. The essay is due at noon tomorrow, and it's 30% of her grade, so instead of calling it quits she aggressively searches for the University IT help desk and assigns herself a stupid, arbitrary username. 

**_[computerssuck]:_ ** _hi, yes, hello due to an incident that is totally unrelated to me, my essay was deleted on my school drive?? I really need my assignment back. It's due tomorrow. Can you help?_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _I wouldn't have blamed it on you if you had just said you were having a problem, but now I'm inclined to think it was your fault._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _technically it was this other idiots fault_

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _but seriously can you help me (even if it was a little bit my fault)?_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _I can check the latest automatic backup. Can you give me your account?_

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _the user is asc@redmond.edu and pass is.... promise you won't clown me for this? I've been using this password since I was 10..._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _I promise I won't clown you._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _ilymrdarcy1_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _not gonna lie that's pretty embarrassing, but don't we all, in one way or another, love Mr. Darcy? I'll run it through the system. Hold on one moment, please._

Anne breathes a short laugh through her nose. The stress of her previous situation, while still looming over her shoulders, slowly lessens. At least the IT help desk is anonymous, so whoever the abstruse DrApple is, they can't track her down and clown her to her face about her ridiculous 11-year-old password. 

**_[DrApple]:_ ** _Yep, I see the file last saved at 1:23am. I'll make sure that gets put back in your drive._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _Your take on The Great Gatsby is pretty sophisticated... I'm a simple guy— Nick had a crush on Gatsby._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _a literary masterpiece shouldn't be boiled down to a crush._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _I don't think I'm as invested in my closest friends as Nick is with Gatsby, and they just met._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _Well, now I just feel bad for your friends._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _and thank you SO much! I can see the essay back in my drive. I appreciate it— have a good night:)_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _you're very welcome. If another incident that is entirely unrelated to you deletes the file again, I'll be here._

She exits the chat briskly, still smiling from the odd yet entertaining conversation. 

Anne doesn't have the time to dwell on the somewhat flirtatious, probably innocent ribbing, and continues typing her _"sophisticated"_ essay while trying to ignore Gilbert's music that still fills her ears. 

* * *

Despite what everyone in the dorm thinks, Gilbert does _not_ hate Anne. 

Anne hates him, sure, and he does like to press her buttons, but that has nothing to do with hatred, and everything to do with how he likes the way her cheeks puff out and how she squabbles without taking a breath— it makes her face flush just as red as her hair and travels down her freckled skin. 

And she definitely, _absolutely,_ gets on his nerves. 

She sings Taylor Swift _loudly_ when she studies, starts pointless arguments with him every time she sees him in their hallway, puts stickers on everything, and he knows with certainty that she spilled her hot chocolate on him in the dining hall last week on purpose. 

But he truly doesn't hate her. 

If things had gone differently, maybe he would have really liked her. He _had_ liked her during that first dorm rules meeting the RA had forced them all to attend at the beginning of the year. At first glance, he thought she looked a bit like Pippi Longstocking— with her twin braids that fell past her shoulders and her short overall dress— but in a devastatingly cute kind of way. She sat next to him on the old, presumably filthy basement couch and asked him if he thought this meeting was necessary. 

_"There are most likely a couple of people here that would light the dorm on fire if they weren't told otherwise."_ he had said. 

_"Oh, so you're telling me I can't light fireworks in here? What kind of college dorm is this?"_ she replied with a coy smile. 

As they whispered mocking jokes to each other about the RA's spiel, he decided he wanted to know her name. Or if she wanted to hang out sometime. Maybe her name was priority number one. 

In a moment of weakness, while she was signing the dorm agreement form on the RA's tablet, he called her _"carrots."_ Looking back, he recognizes this wasn't his most suave move, but at most, he expected a snort from her, maybe an eye roll, not the tablet slapping against his cheek with surprising force and the sight of her stomping away up the stairs. Only later that night, when he left his room to sulk towards the water fountain, wallowing over his poor social skills, did he see her emerge from the door next to his with her shower caddy in tow. 

_"Hey, neighbor,"_ he greeted, hoping she'd forgive his name-calling. 

_"Moron,"_ she grumbled, pushing past him without so much as a look his way. His eyes trailed to her door, checking the name deck taped to it to read the name spelled out in thick block letters. 

_Anne._

So, yeah, the start of their relationship was tumultuous at best, but even at its worst, he did _not_ hate her. 

* * *

Anne talks to the same IT nerd again a week later when her computer won't connect to the school's WiFi. 

**_[DrApple]:_ ** _what can I help you with today?_

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _why does the school WiFi suck._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _ah. a wise question with no good answer._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _please don't tell my supervisor I said that_

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _I would never!!!!! I'm not a snitch and I wouldn't dare lose my honor like that._

 **[** **_DrApple_ ** **]:** _I wish I could magically fix the WiFi for you, but alas, you are the fifteenth person to come to me about this issue in the last, like, 20 minutes, and my mortal powers only reach so far. It'll probably be up in about 30 minutes._

Anne wonders if she knows who this guy is and decides that it's better she doesn't. The mystery is part of the allure; like she has a secret pen pal that makes her giggle in that disgusting way that Diana does whenever that girl from her music theory lecture is around. 

**_[computerssuck]:_ ** _and I wish I could tell you to fix it ASAP because I have an assignment due, but in reality, I'm just in the middle of my The Office rewatch. I'm on the dinner party episode:(_

 **[** ** _DrApple_** **]:** _I take Dinner Party waaayyyy more seriously than your assignments. I'll see what I can do._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _It stopped right when Jan breaks Michael's flat-screen TV. If you can get it working, I will give you my firstborn._

 **[** ** _DrApple_** **]:** _firstborn might be going a little too far, a mere thanks from you, computerssuck, will suffice._

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _that's Miss computerssucks to you. You're going to have to save me from technological ruin a couple more times to be on such a casual level with me._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _my apologies Miss computerssucks. I totally get it. People don't really respect my authority as a doctor on here:/_

* * *

Gilbert doesn't complain a lot. 

He usually does what he's told without a word in edgewise, even when he knows it's insanely unfair for him. When Moody and Charlie have a stupid idea, he'll normally go along with it; when Bash complains about his cooking, he shrugs it off; when Delphine changes the channel to watch Doc Mcstuffins, he lets her. 

But the one thing that is sacred to him is his Friday nights when he has no lectures to worry about the next morning, no shift on the IT help chat to cover, and barely any homework to stress about. On Saturdays, he'll allow Moody and Charlie to drag him out for drinks, as the two boys he's known since birth shout _"Saturdays are for the boys!"_ down the street, letting everyone in a ten-mile radius know how obscenely drunk they are. On Sundays he'll crack open his textbooks and get ahead of the week's readings. On Fridays though, he holes himself in his room with some takeout and watches an absurd amount of Netflix and prays to God that no one knocks on his door. 

In a nightmarish fashion, an anxious knock raps at his door violently, and he just knows it's Anne. Her knocks always sound vaguely threatening. 

When he opens the door, he expects her to make some complaint about his food stinking up the hallway, or that his computer volume is too loud. What he doesn't expect is her jumping up and down nervously while holding a small hermit crab cage. 

"Ruby told me the RAs are doing surprise room checks and that they already checked yours earlier," she says quickly, eyes scanning the halls with paranoia. 

"Yeah?" he chokes out, utterly confused about the scene in front of him. 

"Usually, you'd be the last person I trust with Gertrude, but they haven't checked my room yet, and Prissy already caught me with her once, and I told her I'd give her away, but how could I do that? I mean _look_ at her!" She shoves the cage in his face so that he's forced to stare at the small crab that's been painted yellow; it reminds him of the times his father used to bring him to the beach when he was a child, and Gilbert would name all of the crabs in the surf shops. "Anyways, will you please watch her while Prissy searches my room?" 

"Um, sure," he says, mouth still agape as she places the cage in his hands and runs back into her room. 

She opens the door once more and whispers, "if she's dead when I come back, I'll kill you with my bare hands. Clear?" 

"Crystal," he nods, bringing the cage back into his room and setting it on the desk. 

Gilbert wonders if this is some sort of elaborate fever dream as he watches the hermit crab— Gertrude, Anne had called her— move into the small plastic water cup in the corner of the cage. 

"Your mom doesn't like me, Gertie," he admits to the crab, pulling up his chair and resting his head on his hands. Gertie recoils back into her shell in what looks like a rejection, "and it seems like you don't either." 

Twenty minutes later, when Anne returns aggressive knocking and all, she pushes past into his room, grabbing Gertie's cage promptly before muttering a quiet thank you. 

"Gertie and I had a lovely time!" he quips back at her before she leaves his room, and she glares back at him aghast, standing stiffly at the door. 

" _Gilbert_!" she utters with disgust, "please tell me you did not just call my regal, glorious crab _Gertie._ Her name is Gertrude." 

"Gertie was cool with it," he pokes back, snorting at the way she growls and shuts his door for punctuation. 

Overall, not a horrible distraction on a Friday night. 

* * *

Anne doesn't really care about science. 

There's no poetry in equations and theorems, certainly, no magic written between the lines of the STEM textbooks she tries her best to avoid, and she believes with all of her heart and soul— no, she _knows—_ that Geometry is the purest form of torture. Though, she might concede one point to science because lately, she wonders if that 19th-century scientist that she learned about in high school, Pavlov, was actually onto something with that classical conditioning stuff. 

Only science can explain the way Anne has accidentally Pavlov Dog'ed herself into getting a rush of excitement whenever her computer malfunctions or glitches in some way or another. She should be screaming in frustration, perhaps even maiming the computer herself, but instead, she takes a deep breath, smiles— admittedly disturbingly— and ignores the confused glances from Ruby and Diana. 

If Ruby and Diana are asking, then Anne has no idea why the sight of the error sign on her University's login has her giddy. Maybe she's a masochist and likes turning in all of her assignments late. 

If her own curiosity is asking, it's probably because the student tech support she keeps getting assigned to from the school's IT help-chat might be her soulmate, even though she has no earthly clue who he is. 

It is ridiculous how a couple of chats with some computer nerd she doesn't even _know_ could set her heart skipping. The thirteen-year-old romantic inside of her thinks how poetical it is to meet someone anonymously over an online chat, but the now twenty-one-year-old with a semblance of common sense reminds herself that he could be a serial killer— or worse, a frat guy. 

"Anne, you're freaking Ruby out; what's going on?" Diana asks, shutting her textbook cautiously. To be fair, Ruby does look terrified, slunk back in her chair and covering her eyes with her hands, but is that not Ruby's default reaction to almost anything? 

"Di, tell me when I can open my eyes," the blonde mumbles, lowering herself further into the chair. 

Diana nods towards Ruby, squinting her eyes acquisitively at Anne to demand an answer. 

"It's just some guy I've been talking to." 

She takes a swig of her coffee, hoping the conversation takes a turn, but instead, Ruby shoots out of the chair and settles herself behind Anne. 

"Why didn't you just _say_ so, Anne!" she squeals, clapping her hands for effect. "Who is it? Is it Paul on the first floor? That guy who works at the convenience store? Roy from your English Lit study group? Oh! Is it Gilbert?" 

_"Gilbert?"_ Anne shrieks, turning around to cover Ruby's mouth with both hands. "Are you insane?" 

Diana rolls her eyes, cracking her book open once again. 

Ruby pries Anne's hands from her lips, takes a quick gasp of air, and says, "yeah, he always gives you this look like 'I'm mad at you, but I also want to have sex with you,'" with her best impression of what the 'look' is. 

"Okay, well, I'm always looking at him like 'I'm mad at you, and I'd rather eat fire than have sex with you,'" Anne argues, shrugging Ruby's hands off of her shoulders. 

"Alright, alright," Ruby concedes, sitting back down in her own chair, "who's the guy then?"

"One of the students who answers the IT help chat," she answers, shutting her eyes to avoid Diana's incredulous look. 

"So, you don't know who it is?" Diana asks, cutting straight to the point, and before she can go on her motherly rants, Ruby cuts in. 

"Oooooh, mysterious."

"That's what I thought!" Anne yells, pointing back at Ruby excitedly. "Ruby, I am so glad _someone_ here shares my love of intrigue and enigmas." 

"I don't know what an enigma is— but sure!" the cheery girl smiles, checks her phone, then gets up quickly, applying a quick layer of her strawberry chapstick. "I gotta go, Moody just texted me." 

_"Ugh,_ " Anne groans, "leave." 

Ruby turns confusedly, "I am?" Running back to kiss Anne on the cheek, then barrels up the stairs, skirt swishing back and forth. 

"You know I love you!" Anne yells, and she can hear her lively reply echo down the stairs.

"So, what's the deal with IT guy?" Diana asks once the patter of Ruby's small feet quiets down. 

Anne sighs. "It's nothing really, I've just gotten him for computer trouble a couple of times in a row, and he's funny, a little flirty—at least I think he is." 

"Sounds fun," Diana says, staring back at the book in front of her. Anne is shocked. 

"What? No advice? No, 'Anne, this is a bad idea?'"

Diana laughs, the kind that comes out as a snort. "No, I think you should have fun and not overthink a minor flirtation for once. Remember that girl in your sociology class you had a crush on last semester? And then you—"

"—found out that she only liked the watermelon flavor of Jolly Ranchers and never talked to her again. Your point? That's the most disgusting flavor, and I couldn't trust her anymore." 

The 'I told you so ' look Diana sends her way is one she's seen many times since she was thirteen-years-old and gained her first real friend in the girl that still sits in front of her. Diana is her rock in a way that Matthew and Marilla struggled with. In that way a teenage girl needed. They were each other's first kiss—back when they still used lip smackers and were afraid to kiss anyone else. They saw their first R-rated movie together, and took their first tequila shots together. Diana knows her in a way that nobody else will ever know her, and that scares and comforts her all at the same time. 

"I just want you to have fun," Diana says, reaching out to grasp Anne's hand in hers. 

Anne squeezes her hand in returned affection, "oh, dearest of Dianas, _why_ are we getting so sappy over an IT nerd I'm never going to meet?" 

* * *

**_[computerssuck]:_ ** _why can't I log in to my school email... picture me saying this with a very angry face >:( _

**_[DrApple]:_ ** _Oh, God, that is a terrifying angry face. I will look into it post-haste._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _you need to update your password every semester, or else you'll get locked out. Looks like you forgot. Say goodbye to ilymrdarcy1 :(_

 **_[computerssuck]:_ ** _I'm just going to change it to ilymrdarcy2_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _playing the system miss computerssuck... how inspiring you are._

* * *

"Rubes, did I do something to hurt you?" 

"What?" Ruby gasps, stopping in the middle of the road to stare back at Anne alarmingly, "I'm not mad at all— in fact, it's the opposite!" 

"Then why are you making me go on a date with you and Moody?" Anne argues, pulling Ruby by the arm to the sidewalk and apologetically waving at the car trying to pass by. 

"Moody and I are starting to get a little serious," she drawls, twiddling a long strand of perfectly curled hair, "and I'm just nervous! That's why I suggested a group date— you're always so good at distracting people when I do something embarrassing." 

"I'm usually the one to do the embarrassing thing," Anne adds, "and why couldn't you get Diana to come again?" 

Anne had expected her night to be full of the pumpkin-shaped Reese's that the convenience store starts selling in fall and a beautiful, old copy of Middlemarch that she found at the used bookstore down the street. Going on a group date with Ruby and Moody and whichever of his foolish friends he decided to bring along was absolutely _not_ part of the plan. 

"Diana is too nice to stop me from doing something stupid— also, she said she's helping Jane with her theater project." 

"And you promise Gilbert won't be there?" she pleads, not particularly willing to deal with _that_ tonight. 

"Oh, no," Ruby scoffs, throwing her hand down in a swift motion, "I made sure Moody understood that under no circumstances could Gilbert be there. It'll probably be Charlie." 

"Ugh, that's a problem in its own right," Anne groans, giggling with Ruby as they recall that horrible night Charlie tried to come onto Anne and then barfed all over her new boots. 

But the first sight she sees when they walk through the massive double doors of the bowling alley is Gilbert sitting on the head of the retro, maroon seats, and fixing— or at least that's what it looks like to her— Moody's hair. They seem to be in an intense pep-talk, with Gilbert's hands bracing on a nauseated Moody's shoulders. Anne, feeling somewhat bad for the guy that's obviously obsessed with her friend, points Ruby towards the shoe stands before she notices. 

"Remember, I'm a size 6." 

Ruby nods excitedly and skips towards the stand, and Anne coughs to get Gilbert's attention. His eyes catch hers immediately, and he almost looks a little shocked, mouth parted slightly until a small smile graces his lips, and he waves at her. He hops off the seat and shuffles towards her. 

"Hello, Anne, I see we're both on wing-person duty," he laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously. 

Anne hums lowly, quirking her brows, and nods before she looks past him towards Moody. "And here I thought you were under strict instructions _not_ to invite Gilbert." 

"Oh," Moody says, looking dumbly towards Ruby, who's still picking out their shoes, "I could've sworn she said that Charlie wasn't allowed." 

Gilbert laughs at that, leaning back on his feet in a decided victory. 

"Feels pretty good not being Charlie right now," he says. 

"I think it must always feel good to not be Charlie," she shoots back, and it's this weird moment where she almost feels like she wants to laugh with him. Under the thick of it, she knows he's a funny guy, and she knows that he could be a friend if she really wanted him to be, but then she remembers how he called her a garden variety vegetable and has done nothing to change her mind since. 

Gilbert doesn't want to be her friend anyway. 

Before Moody goes tumbling towards Ruby, she grabs him by the sleeve, "hey, she got an A on a paper today. Congratulate her on it and she'll probably hug you." 

Moody grabs Anne by both arms and shakes her a little, "you're the best, Anne," and then runs ungracefully towards Ruby, stepping in to pay for her shoes. 

She thinks it's odd that two people who have slept together multiple times could be so skittish around each other during an activity as simple as bowling. Maybe that's what it's like when you really, _really_ want someone. Not just in that innate, overriding desire sort of way, but in a way that's driven purely by wanting to be near someone and taking the precautions to not fuck it up. 

She doesn't know if she's ever felt that way. 

Anne is captivated by the sight of someone bowling a strike across the room. She's never been able to do that before. Somehow it upsets her deep in the pit of her stomach. Gilbert stares back at her with the same captivation, and she feels it in her peripheral. She turns to face him and suddenly wonders how it's possible that the cheap, neon lights can look good on someone. 

"Can we call a truce tonight?" he asks, voice soft. "I'm honestly just here for Moody; he really likes Ruby." 

"Yeah, sure," Anne nods before she really soaks in his proposition. She loves Ruby and knows Ruby feels the same about Moody, and her dislike for Gilbert shouldn't affect that. Gilbert is simply a bump in the road to being the best damn friend one could have, and he will _not_ ruin this for her. Though, she doesn't know why she's riling herself up over this when he's basically all but promised not to be annoying tonight. So, she lets out a deep breath and decides to be civil to Gilbert Blythe for one evening. 

"So how exactly did you get dragged into this?" Anne asks as they walk over to their lane. He steps out in front of her, extending his hand to offer her a seat. 

"Uh, you know the usual— Moody wailing about how much he likes Ruby and how I need to come and make sure he doesn't make a fool out of himself." 

"Those two were meant for each other." She snorts and tries not to think about the way their thighs press together under the table. 

"A good match has been known to happen," he says, taking a sip from his glass. 

Anne doesn't understand the coy tone he takes when he says that, with his eyes glancing towards her with some sort of secret code, and she thinks he's taking a swipe at Ruby. 

"Ruby's a great person," Anne clarifies, hands balling into fists on the tabletop. 

"Oh, I know," and his hands immediately rise to his face in defense, as if she was about to take one of those fists and deck him right there, "I like Ruby a lot. Moody's last girlfriend stole my wallet." 

Anne leans forward in interest, and he matches her movements until they're almost nose to nose, "how much money was in there?" 

He laughs, shaking his head as if it was a dumb question, but he's so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek. It's warm and smells like the cherry coke he's been drinking. 

"No, she stole my _wallet_ , left everything else on my desk— money, ID, credit card, everything— she only took the wallet." 

The story is interesting but the lights reflecting in his eyes capture her attention, so does the low timbre of his voice, but she can't let him know he's affecting her in any way, shape, or form so she musters a reply. 

" _Please,_ tell me it was at least a cool wallet." 

"No!" he beams. "It was just your average, brown leather wallet." 

Anne doesn't remember Moody and Ruby showing back up to their lane, she definitely doesn't remember tying the bowling shoes, and she barely recalls the way Moody set his hands on Ruby's waist to _'show her how it's done.'_ The only things she remembers with certainty, and with great detail, is that she never got a strike (something Gilbert bullied her incessantly about), Gilbert beating her by an embarrassingly high amount that she's ashamed to admit to, and how they eventually snuck off to play skee ball when Moody and Ruby started grossing them out with the excessive PDA. It was weird how natural they seemed to fit together, like they could have been friends this entire time if something had just gone a little bit differently between them. 

Moody and Ruby eventually let them off the hook and tell them they're going out for drinks— _strictly alone—_ and Gilbert buys Anne the shitty ice cream sundae she's been whining about for hours before they head back to their dorm. 

"So what's up with you and strikes?" he asks innocently, stepping out in front of her and walking backward to watch her face. 

It's almost midnight, but the campus is still bustling with people. It's so different from her home in Avonlea, where you could walk for hours around this time and still feel like the last person alive. 

"What do you mean?" 

He smirks at her, and something turns in her stomach that she's sure is contempt. "You were angry every time that you bowled, and whenever I'd get a strike you told me you were going to murder me." 

Gilbert laughs though, so she knows he doesn't mind, and she laughs back when he almost trips over his own feet. 

"I don't..." she starts and then groans loudly when she realizes he won't let this go, "I don't like losing— if I do something, I want to win, or at least be good at it. I especially don't like it when someone's better than me. That's why I prefer to argue— I know I'll always win." 

"And you haven't figured out how to argue a bowling ball into hitting all the pins, yet? Come on, Shirley, I thought you were better than that." 

"I'm still working out the kinks on that one." 

When they enter the dorm, he swipes his key card and holds the door for her like a perfect gentleman, she wonders if they look like a couple to the outside eye. 

She wonders if anyone who doesn't know what they are to each other— or what they _aren't_ to each other— thinks he's the adoring boyfriend who bought his girlfriend a cup of ice cream and then walked her home. If they thought she'd let him back into her room for a kiss, or maybe something a little more. But when they reach the third floor, she doesn't let him in, and he doesn’t try to kiss her goodnight. Anne just nods a very business-like nod, opens her door, and utters just a couple words before slamming it back shut.

"Truce over." 

* * *

Gilbert doesn't know who Miss computerssuck is, but after he helps her with her tech issues for the 5th time in one month, he starts to come to three different, logical conclusions. 

  1. She is really, incredibly, hopelessly terrible with computers and needs to take an intro class or something. 
  2. Her computer is as old as time itself, and whoever told her to buy it has something against her. 
  3. After the first chat, she is faking computer troubles to flirt with him. 



Part of him sort of hopes it's the third conclusion, but that seems pretty outlandish considering she doesn't know him, and who in their right mind flirts with random IT guys on the internet during their spare time? He can't deny he gets a little excited every time his chat notifications ring, and her username blinks in the corner of his screen. It reminds him of when he was in high school, and his heart would pound every time that girl in his biology class would text him for his homework answers. Of course, she never flirted back, and the extent of their conversations was _'what's the answer to number six,' 'B,'_ and _'thanks.'_

This girl, computerssuck— which is a horrible username, by the way— keeps talking with him even after he's helped her with whatever is wrong with her computer that day. 

Just last week, they talked for almost an hour about her current essay on the intricacies of Romantic-era poetry and how they both loved to walk past the school's radio station on Sunday nights to hear the live music echo onto the street. They talked until his supervisor called him to remind him of the long queue of people waiting for assistance. 

He doesn't even like his job; quite frankly, he doesn't really care about computers, and most of his coworkers are computer science majors, while he stands a lone pre-med major, But somebody needs to pay for his schooling, and having Bash do it seems sadistic when he's got a kid of his own. 

This is the first time he's really enjoyed his job. 

And it is also the first time he is into someone who he's never seen face to face, and yet when they speak— her witty comebacks, the banter they share— it makes him wish he and Anne talked like that. Something like friends, but something more. 

Gilbert doesn't understand why her name nags at him in the back of his brain, like an itch he just can't reach. 

He knows he should let it go, and what _it_ is he doesn't know, so he lets himself flirt with the girl on the internet that he'll probably never meet, and hopes that it'll miraculously reach that ever-elusive itch. 

* * *

There should be a universal law that says Halloween must never occur on a Sunday. 

Anne doesn't know whether it should be the school, the national government, or some sort of scientific law that should declare this to be true, but as she stares at the neon sign of the convenience store in her puppy onesie with the sounds of the rest of the school partying, she feels like the only one on Earth who has to be up for an 8am lecture tomorrow. 

It's unfair, really, that the entirety of her friend group either has later classes where it's safer to show up hungover or no Monday classes at all. 

Maybe they have the foresight to keep their social life in mind when creating their schedules that Anne somehow misses. Or, perhaps she's thinking too hard about, you know, graduating. 

What's even more unfair is that when she's face to face with the candy bar aisle in the store, her favorite, festive pumpkin-shaped Reese's are completely out of stock.

"Hey," she says, turning back to the guy at the cash register, "do you not have any pumpkin Reese's in the back?" 

The entire store is empty, and “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” plays over the old radio, the crackling almost louder than the song itself. The lights are flickering, and she'd think she was about to be the protagonist of her own shitty horror movie if the shabby old convenience store didn't always have that liminal space vibe. 

The store clerk looks up from his phone, clearly just as miserable as she is to be stuck doing menial crap on Halloween.

"There is no 'back,'" he says with an attitude, air quotes and all. "What you see is what you get." 

He turns his attention back to his phone and poorly drums the beat of the song on the countertop with his fingertips. Anne stands there, and really, she gets it, she is not going to yell to a guy who's making minimum wage on Halloween night, but she's already having a bad day, and pumpkin Reese's are _no_ laughing matter to her and—

" _Jeez,"_ a voice from the aisle behind her sharply whispers, causing her to jump. Gilbert then peeks from the cereal boxes in between them, " _who peed in his Count Chocula?"_

Anne chortles against her better judgment, putting her hand up against her mouth in a failed attempt to hide her smile. He smiles back, clearly pleased with himself for making her laugh, and steps into her aisle with a spring in his step. 

"You're looking for the pumpkin Reese's?" he asks, pointing to the empty box on the shelf. 

The song is still playing full blast, and he's tapping his feet clumsily, making her want to ask if he likes this song, but she doesn't want to get into small talk with him. 

"Yeah," she answers, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and suddenly self-conscious over her choice in clothing, "I can't do much this Halloween but eat some celebratory chocolate and dress in a cheap onesie so..."

She motions over her getup awkwardly, and his eyes scan her from head to toes. She can tell he's biting back a grin. 

"I totally get it," he says, nodding seriously, and then he's looking towards the door, hands fidgeting. She thinks he wants to leave her until he blurts, "the gas station on the corner always has a full stock of candy if you want to check that out." 

The question comes out quickly, and he does little to hide his nerves, but even then, she can't tell if he's inviting her to go along with him, or if he's just passing a friendly tip to send her on her merry way. 

"It's sort of dark, and I'm alone so—" 

"—I'd be happy to go with you if you wouldn't mind the company." 

It's chivalrous in that non-expecting and genuine fashion that Gilbert just always exudes naturally. She used to think that it was his way of making her feel bad and trying to cast her as the villain, but now she can see in the way he rubs the back of his head and shifts his gaze at the clerk who's still ignoring them that this is just him. This is just Gilbert. 

"Gilbert Blythe!" she exclaims, a smirk playing at her lips. "Are you inviting me on an adventure?" 

The nerves that were previously plastered on his face disappear and are soon replaced by a roguish smile and a raised brow. 

"Adventure?" he repeats, decidedly amused. "It's just down the street, Anne." 

"Where's your sense of excitement?" she says, taking his wrist and pulling him out of the store, stopping quickly when she remembers what he must have been there for in the first place. 

"Oh," she breathes, letting his arm fall back to his side, "weren't you going to buy something?" 

He shrugs and starts walking in the direction of the gas station. 

"I think something more interesting just came up." 

She catches up to him instantly, hands behind her back, peering up at him in study. 

Gilbert is... an attractive guy. Anne isn’t in so much denial that she can’t admit it. She had noticed it the first time they met, in that cringy floor meeting, and his quick remarks and charming jokes had even made her _like_ him for a minute _(something she is in too much denial to admit)_. But then he called her _carrots_ , the same name all of her most nefarious childhood bullies would repeat, and it all came crashing down. She doesn't want to think about that now. She wants to pretend that they're two different people in a completely different timeline. 

"Why aren't you out terrorizing Kingsport with Moody and Charlie?" 

"I have class tomorrow," he says as if it's obvious. "I don't know if you've ever had to dissect a pig at eight in the morning, but that's not something you want to do hungover." 

"I'm thankful to have never had that experience," she grimaces. 

"And you?" he asks. 

"Same reasons," she says, and at the confused tilt of his head, she clarifies, "not the pig, but class— well, we are analyzing Lovecraft tomorrow, so, a different kind of pig." 

Gilbert chuckles and nods thoughtfully, and tells her that she's not missing much, and retells a particularly disgusting story about his poor lab partner. Even though he's clearly just as grossed out as she is, he speaks so passionately about the complexities of the procedure that it comes out endearing to her. 

"Do you like being pre-med?" This isn't small talk, she decides— major life choices aren't small talk. 

"I do," he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets, looking deep in thought. "My dad always said that people fight throughout their whole lives to add something meaningful to the world. I want to do that by being a doctor— helping people. Though everything gets so clinical at school, sometimes it's hard not to let it all affect you. Maybe that means I’m not cut out to be a doctor but I don’t care."

It hits her all at once that Gilbert has his own dreams and aspirations just like she does. 

"I think that just means you care, and caring deeply will always be the right thing," she reasons, noting the way he abruptly stops in his tracks.

He looks shocked, like he didn't think she was capable of that sort of kindness towards him, but his feet pick back up and match in time with hers. 

Every apartment that they pass seems to be throwing a rager. The music mashes together on the street in some twisted symphony, and the excited screams, laughter, and hollering echo from all directions. The energy is intoxicating in its own right, and she feels somewhat grateful to be observing the scenes as a wallflower, peeking into numerous people's lives for only a brief moment. 

Once they get to the gas station, she marches determinedly to the chocolate aisle and squeals when the pumpkin-shaped Reese's are there, just as Gilbert promised. 

He walks up and down the aisles, but even when she pays at the register, she notices he doesn't pick anything out, just trails behind her. 

"You can't have any," she tells him, hoping he didn't buy anything because he thought he was going to share with her. 

"After I've guided you on this quest?" he gasps, holding his heart. 

"We never discussed any sort of payment." 

"That's true," he concedes, opening the door for her.

Anne isn't quite ready to be alone on Halloween, so she sits down on the pavement outside without asking him if he's willing to stay. He follows her lead and sits down next to her. 

"So, I've been thinking..." she drifts, stretching out her legs across the pavement, and letting her feet hang off the curb. 

Gilbert starts unwrapping some chocolate and takes a bite, ignoring her previous ban. "That's dangerous." 

"Are you implying I'm not smart?" she quips, elbowing him in the ribs. 

" _No!_ " He laughs, grasping his side in mock pain, before leaning back on his palms and staring at her a little bit too fondly. "I'm implying that you might be too smart. Your mind is a dangerous thing, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert." 

The gentle sentiment and the gleam in his eyes almost make her forget what she was thinking in the first place. Gilbert starts shaping into this _person_ that she doesn't recognize, and that's somehow not a bad thing— in fact, it's a good thing, she thinks. She's been picturing him as the big, bad monster for the last couple of months, and now he's just a _boy,_ and she's just a _girl,_ and she wants to laugh about this sandbox drama that's been going on between them. She wants to put this memory in a container and she doesn't even know why yet. She wants to safeguard it, along with the way the cool pavement feels against her fingers, the smell of the peanut butter and chocolate, and the sound of the buses and cars passing by. 

"I've been thinking," she continues, knee brushing his slightly, "that we could be friends— or acquaintances, at the very least." 

He looks straight ahead for a moment, before shaking his head briskly, then he sets his hand in between them until she reluctantly takes it in hers. She revels in the soft pressure of his fingers grasping hers and shaking firmly, "it would be an honor to be friends— or acquaintances, at the very least, with you." 

This whole night she was trying to pretend to see them as two different people in two different timelines, but suddenly it all aligns together like the stars in some preordained course, and she speculates that they were meant to be here. 

They don't leave until the last bus pulls in for the night, and when they hop into the packed bus, she presses so close to him that she can smell the detergent off of his sweatshirt and feel the radiating warmth. His arm holds the bar above their heads, and his face is turned so she can't see the full details of his expression, but she swears that she can see a blush splattered across his cheek. 

They don't talk a lot once they reach the dorm, and there's something about the silence that she just doesn't want to disturb, so instead of _goodnight_ or _thank you,_ she lingers at her door for just a few moments, smiling graciously and pressing it closed softly. 

Once she's settled in for the night, staring at the ceiling and wrapping herself in her blankets, she can hear “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” playing from Gilbert's room. 

* * *

Anne is three shots into Diana's bottle of Malibu when Ruby— who's further gone than she is— blurts that she might be in love with Moody. 

Diana looks at Anne with a pleased expression that says 'you owe me $5' and asks Ruby what made her come to that conclusion. 

Ruby stares at them blankly for a moment, takes a massive gulp of her wine cooler and sets it dramatically on Anne's desk, then sits criss-cross applesauce on the floor in front of them. 

Anne really enjoys drinking with Diana and Ruby, because she always gets to feel a healthy middle ground. No matter how much the three of them drink, Diana stays the soberest, while it takes Ruby about one drink to bridge the fine line between laughing maniacally and crying hysterically. Anne can feel responsible for Ruby one minute and the next, has Diana holding her hair back as she exorcizes the beast. 

"Yesterday he told me that he eats strawberries every morning because they remind him of my chapstick." 

Diana and Anne share a quick glance. 

"That is..." Anne starts, strangely proud of Moody's game, "surprisingly romantic." 

"I love him," Ruby asserts. 

There is a brief moment of silence before the girls burst into wild giggles with Ruby kicking her feet toward the ceiling. Anne runs to grab a glass so she can make a toast to the happy couple. Diana plays along, pulling the chair into the middle of the room, and clicks her long, well-manicured fingernails on the glass as Anne climbs on to the chair. 

"Virgil once said 'love conquers all' and I think he might have been onto something," she declares, raising the class high.

"To Virgin!" Ruby cheers, snatching the glass from Anne's hand to chug it all down. 

Anne wants to correct Ruby but decides against it when she sees the bright smile that illuminates her face. It's beautiful. Love is beautiful. 

Diana grabs Anne's hand to pull her gently back to the floor, throwing her a sly grin. "When are you going to exchange your 'I love yous' with your IT nerd?" 

Caught in the moment, she almost forgot about him. They haven't talked in a week and she's almost expecting Diana to ask about Gilbert instead. 

"I'm thinking about skipping that step and going straight to a proposal of marriage, you know?" she jokes. 

"Really?" Ruby asks excitedly, clasping her hands in front of her face. 

" _No!”_ Anne laughs, shaking the gullible girl by the shoulders.

"Well, aren't you the tiniest bit curious to who he is?" Ruby urges, ducking away from Anne's grasp. 

"No," Anne denies. "How would I even go about doing that?" 

"You could message him telling him your dorm and room number," Diana suggests. 

Anne listens to way too many true crime podcasts to ever do something like that. 

"Absolutely not," she shrieks. 

"You could tell him that there's a bear by the fountain," Ruby proposes with an incredibly serious face. 

Anne stares back at her, a noise of confusion sputtering out of her mouth. "And that's supposed to lure him to the fountain?" 

"Duh," Ruby nods with a kind of confidence that Anne is almost jealous of. 

Diana, choosing to ignore the tangent, speaks up with her own idea. "I want to see you talk to him. Can we just... fake an IT emergency?" 

"Oh!" Ruby claps. "Yes, yes, yes!" 

Anne is tipsy enough that the idea sounds good enough so she shrugs, pulling her laptop out of her desk and sets it on the bed where the girls pile on. 

They all blankly stare at the screen as Anne pulls up the IT help chat and types in her username and password, waiting to be assigned an assistant. It only takes a moment before the chat screen pops up and dings with a notification from DrApple himself. Ruby sequels and Diana jumps, Anne just takes a deep breath as the screen shows he's typing. 

**_[DrApple]:_ ** _As much as I look forward to our chats, you seriously need to get a new computer._

Diana gasps. "Wait, okay— he's definitely flirting with you." 

"What do I say is wrong?" Anne panics with her hands braced on the keyboard. 

"Say the WiFi is down!" Ruby says, pointing at the screen aggressively. 

**_[computerssuck]:_ ** _once again, this school proves to have the worst WiFi in the world._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _a gross exaggeration but still incredibly valid_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _Hm. I'm not seeing any shortages on the map here... you might be the first to call it in though, do you mind telling me what dorm you're in?_

Anne screams, pushing the computer away from her and jumping off the bed to pace around the room. Ruby and Diana join in the screaming making all of their screams about 'what should we do' and 'what have we done' blend together in an assault of noise. 

They only take a minute to collectively freak out, until Anne hurries back to the bed and turns the computer back towards her. 

**_[computerssuck]:_ ** _I would prefer not to say..._

Diana says, "good save," and then there's a knock on the door. They all freeze in place as if they've just been busted with a massive conspiracy. Anne scurries to the door, shushing the girls angrily. 

Gilbert stands there with his headphones hanging off his neck. They're the kind of headphones with a mic attached, making him look like a drive-thru employee. Anne laughs. 

"Can you be quiet? I'm working," he asks politely, and she almost wishes he was angrier about it because they've been so loud— he has every right to be angry. 

"Yeah— Yep! I'm sorry that is totally my fault." 

He blinks, obviously disturbed by her remorse. "Okay, thanks," he says with an uncomfortable smile, walking back to his room quickly. 

Once Gilbert leaves, Ruby's eyes are back on the computer. "Why hasn't he responded? He's been so quick with his replies." 

"He's probably working on another complaint," Diana suggests, and Anne agrees. 

As if they summoned him, the computer dings again. 

**_[DrApple]:_ ** _I understand! The WiFi should come back soon but I'll keep an eye on it. If you have any more issues don't hesitate to come back._

Long after the chat closes and the conversation turns to something else entirely, Anne wishes she had figured out a way to find him. Before, she had wanted to keep him this secret, this enigma, but now she decides that isn't exactly what she wants. She wants to figure out who he is and then take it step by step from there. Maybe she wouldn't use Ruby's bear plan, but something a little less evil genius and a little more normal genius. 

* * *

The Redmond online forum is a terrifying place; bizarre drama between entire classes and professors, arguments over what's the best place to get pizza on the main drag, and stupid memes only the students can understand. Anne only goes on it every once and while to argue with people when she has nothing better to do, but today, after scrolling through a couple dozen posts of uninteresting nonsense, something catches her eye. 

It's not the post itself that interests her— something about free boxes of cookies being handed out Thursday in the Student Union— but the username that makes her slam her phone down against her chest and take a couple deep breaths to set herself right again. 

_DrApple._

It can't be a coincidence, right? She already knows he has to be a student at her school, and now a post on the school's forum is from the exact same username? Sure, there's like, 20,000 people at the school, but who else would have that insanely dorky username? 

Before she even has a minute to think about it, her legs are already moving out the door and running down the stairs to the first floor— passing, and ignoring, a confused Ruby— where she pounds on Diana's door aggressively. 

Diana comes out with her toothbrush in hand and white toothpaste froth around her mouth. 

" _What?"_ she whisper-shouts, eyes squinted in confusion. 

"I have a plan to catch DrApple in the wild," she says, with absolutely no other context. Diana chokes a bit on her toothpaste, clears her throat, and urges Anne into the room. 

Anne sits on Diana's fluffy, blue bed without invitation and starts rambling immediately. 

"I saw him on the Redmond forum, with the same username— that can't be a coincidence." 

"No, no," Diana agrees, shaking her head firmly, hand on her chin, "no one else could possibly be that dorky." 

Anne waves her hands with vindication. "That's exactly what I thought!" 

Diana sits down next to Anne, pulling a pillow to her knees and listening intently. 

Even though they live in the same dorm, Diana's room always feels more elegant to Anne. Something about the decor and the smell makes her think of an Ikea showroom. 

"He posted on the free-food-lookout that the beekeeping club is giving out free boxes of cookies on Thursday night at the student union, that means he must be going, right? I'll stake out there and try to see if there's anyone who stands out." 

The brunette snorts a little bit, covering her face in the pillow to hide her giggles. There's an incessant knocking at the door, where they can hear Ruby begging to be let in and crying about being left out. 

"How do you know if he stands out? What if he's just some plain dude?" Diana asks, seemingly unconvinced by the whole scheme. 

"It's not about the _looks_ Di, it's about the _soul,_ and the _essence_ he gives off. We have a connection, okay? And I know you don't believe in that sort of thing, but _I_ do, and will you just let me be romantic and irrational? I'll know him when I see him— I'm sure of it." 

Diana finally lets Ruby in with a roll of her eyes, and the teary-eyed girl tumbles onto the floor. 

"I heard the words soul, connection, and romantic," she sniffles, wiping her eyes with her sleeves, "will someone _please_ explain to me what's going on." 

Diana sends a playful glance towards Anne and sighs. 

"Another one of Anne's great ideas." 

* * *

Gilbert tries not to think of all the reasons Anne could be jumping around her room, squealing, and then running down the stairs at 11:30 at night. 

He thinks of about 100 different reasons anyway. 

* * *

_Direct Message:_

**_[floweryasc]:_ ** _am I totally off base or are you a certain IT assistant... if you don't know what I'm talking about please ignore this and burn your phone or something._

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _computerssuck?? Finally, I can associate you with a different username. computerssuck is... a horrible username to romanticize._

* * *

Anne doesn't mention her plan to flush out her mystery guy to the mystery guy himself, even though they've been talking all week. 

She feels that might be a weird thing to mention. 

Instead, she plants herself on a stool in the corner of the Student Union's food court and sips her milkshake anxiously while staring at the free cookie booth. 

She's never done anything like this, and it feels out of place for her. Honestly, this seems to be dangerously encroaching Ruby territory, but her curiosity has never been easily sated, so the lengths she goes to uncover the mystery doesn't necessarily surprise her. 

The booth is unmanned, only accompanied by the cookies themselves and fliers for the club. Anne watches the different people pass by and eagerly collect free cookies, but no one who stands out. Just like the plan related to Diana, she had no criteria except that she would know it when she saw it. She spends about twenty minutes feeling absolutely no connection with anyone around and is about to cut her losses when Gilbert Blythe sits at the seat across from her, a box of cookies in hand, staring at her intently. 

_"Ugh,"_ she groans, trying to look past him to get her eyes back on the booth, "you're in my way." 

He turns around, trying to figure out what she's looking at, scanning the entire food court for anything of interest, looking back at her, and shrugging confusedly when he can't figure it out. 

"What are you looking at?" 

"Nothing that concerns you," she snaps, trying to scare him off. 

It doesn't work, however, because he stays, and even hands her one of his cookies. 

"I thought we were friends and/or acquaintances, at the very least," he reminds her with a smile. 

"We are," she responds, taking the cookie happily, and then returning back to her search with laser focus, "I'm just in the middle of an important mission." 

"How's Gertie?" he asks, deliberately using the nickname she forbade him. 

" _Gertrude_ is doing fine," she says, laying her hands flat on the table and swinging her feet back and forth under them. 

She kicks him on accident once, and she's about to say sorry when he repeats the motion back with a smile on his face.

She likes the way that his legs still swing while sitting on the stools even though he's much taller than her, and she likes the way he doesn't continue to match her eye-line out of some respect for her privacy. She especially likes the way his curls are falling against his forehead, and the quiet laugh he blows out when she grabs another cookie. He doesn't seem to think she's paying attention to him, but she _is,_ and it's simultaneously destroying her and gratifying her inside all at once. Anne wants him to know that she's noticing him, and yet the idea of being perceived by him in any way causes an intense turbulence she doesn't want. 

After a couple uncomfortable minutes of them pretending not to stare at each other, Gilbert clears his throat and shuffles out of his seat. His eyes glide to his feet and to her multiple times before he finally speaks up. 

"I got to go," he says, pointing to nowhere in particular, and she can't help the way her face falls for a second. "Work." 

"O-okay," she stammers, feeling like she doesn't quite know what to do with her hands. 

"I'll..." he starts, lingering at the table before taking a few steps back, "I'll see you." 

"See you," she says, but it comes out in a foreign voice she doesn’t recognize. 

She watches him go until she can't see the shape of him down the hallway, and suddenly, the cookie booth does little to fascinate her anymore. 

Defeated, Anne walks back to the dorm in the depths of despair and disappointment that her genius plan failed horribly (like they usually tend to do), with no suspect or lead for her mystery man. 

* * *

The worst part about living in a dorm is having to bring your room keys in the shower because you're too paranoid to keep your door unlocked for a mere 20 minutes. 

Anne has never thought about how much she hated that until she watches her key fall between the thin slits of the shower drain and disappear from sight at the end of her midnight shower.

" _Fuck,"_ she mutters sharply, kicking the drain with her shower shoes as if that'll make a difference. 

It does not make a difference. 

And the worst part of living in a _co-ed_ dorm is the ever-persisting risk of running into one of your male neighbors while awkwardly walking around in just a towel. 

As Anne rushes down the hall, pulling and pushing on her doorknob and hoping it'll open out of sheer force of will, that ever-persistent risk proves highly probable when Gilbert hesitantly opens his door and stops in his tracks as he examines the sight in front of him. He opens his mouth and closes it multiple times before she stomps her foot and rolls her eyes. 

"I dropped my key down the drain," she explains nonchalantly with her chin up in faked confidence. 

"Oh," he nods, eyes trained to her face in a way that suggests just how badly he wants to look down. 

They stand in silence for a couple more seconds before he opens his door wider and points his thumb towards his room, "you wanna come in?" 

She mulls over her options. Prissy is off RA duty tonight, so she won't have access to the master key, her phone is locked in her room along with all her clothes and other belongings, and maintenance closes at 10. She weighs those simple facts besides the possibility of staying in Gilbert's room clad in only a towel and comes to the conclusion that a night with him might not make her world come to a crashing halt. 

He steps aside at her first step forwards, letting her walk into his room and take it in. She's been inside a couple of times before, but this time is different. She actually wants to take it in. 

There's a picture of him and a small girl with a toothless smile on the desk that stands proudly next to a picture of a green giraffe with purple spots, made out to _Uncle Gilby._ There are well-worn out books in every corner and surface of the room; they're mostly medical journals and other science-y textbooks but the book that seems the most beloved is a copy of Whitman's poems on his bedside table. Anne thinks it's an odd choice for him but then realizes she really doesn't know what he likes to read, or quite frankly, any of his fancies. She doesn't know what he prefers to eat in the morning, or what he dreams about at night. 

Anne turns to him quickly and blurts out the first question on her mind: "what's your favorite color?" 

Gilbert just stands there with his mouth quirked into a bemused grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes and then shuffles to the dresser and opens the top drawer. 

"Here," he says, ignoring her previous question, "I'm assuming you don't want to stay in a towel all night." 

"You'd be correct in that assumption," she agrees, taking the shorts and old t-shirt from his hands, feeling a slight jolt of electricity when their pinkies brush. He takes a deep breath and turns towards the wall, signaling that she can go ahead and change. 

"And, it's green," he blurts, and at the absence of a response, faces her to clarify, "my favorite color— it's green." 

"Oh, you can do better than that," she taunts, one hand on her hip. 

"What?" he defends, "that _is_ my favorite color." 

Anne remembers that her scope for the imagination must be different than his, so she lets the inner English major in her jump out. 

"Yeah, but green can be _so many_ things. It can be baby barf or limes; deep and strong, or light and airy. Leaves of holly or grass in a meadow. There are so many ways to describe your favorite color and yet you say _green—_ I think you can do better than that." 

He gives a short, reluctant nod and stands in thought for a second. As his eyes drift across the room, she wonders if he's searching for an example that will please her. 

"Leaves in the morning," he says. "A summer morning, when you look up and the sun is just barely filtering through them." 

She smiles at the beautiful scope he provides and she can just see the Avonlea summers in her mind; spending her days exploring the forest and working diligently with Matthew and Marilla. 

"And your favorite color?" he asks. 

"Blue— the kind of blue on calm sea foam and clear skies." Again, the colors of Home. 

She wonders if green reminds him of Home too, but the weight of his gaze becomes heavy and she coughs to cut the pressure of the air around them. 

"Can you turn back around?" 

He turns instantly, bringing a hand up to his eyes for good measure.

Somewhere in between them learning how to move around each other in such a small space and in such odd circumstances, from him grabbing another pillow from his closet, and her turning on the fan by the window, they settle into something that feels like a familiar routine. When she looks at her towel that's placed on top of the contents of his hamper she realizes just how domestic this all feels and instead of scaring her it almost spurs her on. 

The green of his comforter starts to blend into the green of the trees at home, just as the blue of his nightshirt starts to look like the smooth, blue skies. 

Despite his clothes hanging loosely off of her, they wrap around her in a way that makes her feel safe. 

"I can sleep on the floor," he suggests as she climbs into his twin-sized bed. 

In another time she would have let him suffer on the cold, dusty floor, but she wouldn't dare do it now. 

"No," she says, perhaps too eagerly, "please, it's okay just this once." 

When he finally turns off the lamp and slides in next to her it's slow and wavering, but he settles himself to face her and their noses are practically touching. It's deliberate when he does this, and she can't be bothered by it because she isn't ready to look away either. The sharp lines of him are illuminated by the light that trickles in through the window and under the door from the hallway. She's pressed up against the wall and when she finds no other place for her hand to find purchase, she sets it on his bicep and watches his eyes trail to where they are touching and then back to her face, down to her lips. 

Anne knows he wants to kiss her, she knows he's been wanting to kiss her since he saw her standing outside her door in nothing but a towel. Perhaps he's been wanting to kiss her for longer and she's just never wanted to let him until now. 

She nods to a question that hasn't been asked and he immediately presses his lips against hers and it silences the buzzing thoughts in her ears instantly. She grasps his arm tighter and drags the other hand to the nape of his neck, fingers pulling at the short curls located there. This emboldens him further, letting his own fingers wisp across her hips and settle just above the waistband of the shorts she wears, and then he shifts himself to hover above her. 

At this new angle, he slots his mouth with hers and she tries not to feel embarrassed by the soft gasp she lets out by the quick change in him–– in _her_. It simply stokes the fire building within further, so she brings her legs around his waist to pull him closer. 

Gilbert slowly draws away, and his eyes rove her face once over, then again, before he leans down to press open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, paying special attention to her pulse point there when she lets out short puffs of air. 

His hands start to roam higher up her shirt, and she's about to sit up to help him take it off when he whispers, " _Anne."_

 _Anne_. 

It's her name that makes her reassess where she is and exactly who she is. Her hands grasp his own to slow their movements, lowering her legs back down to the mattress. 

Gilbert is here, and he's real, wanting to touch her— _continue_ touching her and she thinks she wants it, but she wants it a little too much. These feelings that have been building and building are terrifyingly real, which is why they have to stop before it goes any further. They are so fragile here, as he still lies above her in wait of some sort of sign. They could so easily break if she kisses him any more–– if he lets his hands wander further up her shirt–– they are going to shatter. 

Their first kiss was only minutes ago and already she doesn't want to ruin it. She can't ruin it. Not when she doesn't know what _it_ is going to be tomorrow morning or the morning after that.

They don't say anything, taking a few seconds to catch their breath, and she feels the tension build even more than before as their breaths mingle, but this time, there's no relief. 

She lifts her eyes to meet his and tries to convey what she wants to say. Anne doesn't even know what it is that she wants to say but she hopes he understands, and she thinks he does because he brushes a strand of hair off her cheek and then lowers himself off of her. 

Back to his original place by her side. 

She doesn't turn to look and neither does he. They stare at the moon-tinted ceiling until they both fall asleep to the sounds of their loud, and nervous heartbeats. 

* * *

The sound of the lawnmower outside is what wakes Anne up in the morning. 

The light shines in beams through Gilbert's window and scatters across his room, illuminating the view before her. 

She's careful not to breathe too heavily, or stretch herself too wide because for some reason, not waking up the sleeping boy beside her is priority number one. 

His face is buried in his pillow, with his arms draping over her waist in an intimacy that she's never allowed for herself before. His breathing is steady and she feels every inhale and exhale along her stomach and side. Here, there are no gossiping friends and fixed eyes to tyrannize her as she studies him closely. Her fingers ache to touch him like she had last night, to draw him even closer to her but she knows she needs to leave before he wakes up and they need to talk about it. 

Again, she has a deep desire to bottle this memory up and protect it from the outside world, and he is the outside world. Maybe she is too and this is a moment that doesn't surely belong to them. She gives herself five more minutes to count the breaths he takes and feel the weight of his arm that presses into her hip, lightly grazing her stomach under his shirt. 

When she slips out of the bed as carefully and quietly as possible, tiptoeing across the floor, she wonders if he'll be as warm as she was when he wakes up. 

* * *

Gilbert hates that she woke up before him, as he had been hoping to get a glimpse of an unwound Anne in the morning, but when he wakes up, the bed is as cold as it usually is. 

After simmering in his own disappointment for a good half hour until he forces himself to plant his feet on the floor and take one step at a time. He opens his door to go brush his teeth, his clothes are folded neatly in a bag, a small sticky note attached with the refined, cursive words: 

_"Thank you."_

* * *

_Direct Message:_

**_[floweryasc]:_ ** _do you think we've ever met?_

 **_[DrApple]:_ ** _I hope we have, or will, someday._

* * *

Anne had been planning on avoiding Gilbert all week, but he catches her stomping through puddles in her rain boots while she waits at the bus stop. She knows she can't run from him now, and she'd rather take the bus than walk in the cold rain, so she stops and gives him her attention. 

"Anne! Would you mind?" he asks, pointing towards his wet head and motions towards her umbrella. His feet are slowly stepping forward like her answer doesn't really matter, but his eyes are hesitant so she knows she'd run if she asked him to. 

She lifts her arm to create the space for him under her shelter, and he smiles graciously and points towards the book in her hand. 

"Hamlet?" 

She knows he feels out of his depth here, not knowing where to step with her because she's usually filled with landmines, so she softens. 

" _Yes_ , even though Hamlet is so many different things I confess my favorite part is the tragical romance." 

Inside, she knows that mentioning romance is dangerous after what happened, but it slips out unwillingly. 

"Tragical romance?" he queries, like he notices her use of the word romance and wants to know more about anything regarding her and that word. 

She wishes she could have a snapshot of what they look like right now; with her on her tiptoes, holding the umbrella to cover him from the rain, and him bending down slightly to make it work better. 

"You know, a tragical romance— Romeo and Juliet, Daisy and Gatsby— that sort of thing," she explains, feeling small in the moment despite being eye-to-eye with him. 

"I always sort of thought Nick was in love with Gatsby," he comments offhandedly. She feels a stray raindrop fall on her nose, and his hand flexes at his side as if he wants to brush it off. 

The comment sounds vaguely familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. 

"What?" She can't help but step back a little bit, letting the rain hit his back. 

"Nick and Gatsby?" he repeats, blinking at her odd reaction. "I don't know if I'm as obsessed with Moody as Nick was with Gatsby, and like, they just met— I've known Moody since diapers." 

_I feel bad for your friends, then._

The words that she typed in what seems like ages ago echo through her ears, and suddenly everything clicks in her mind like the last piece of a puzzle, and she can't believe she's been so stupid, so _blind_ to what's been in front of her this entire time. _Gilbert_ is her mystery guy, not some grand soulmate that comes in a brilliant manner. 

"I’ve got to go," she sputters, and turns on her heels and runs as fast as she can towards the dorm, away from _here—_ leaving him to soak _._

_"Anne!"_

Over the violent splatters of rain, she can hear him continue to call her name as he chases after her, and for the first time in weeks, she hates the fact he lives right next to her. Even if he wasn't trailing behind her, their destination was ultimately the same. She can't look back at him, knowing the confused, rejected, and hurt state she's left him in will be physically personified by the rain that probably drowns his clothes by now. 

When she finally reaches the dorm, she reaches in her pocket for her key card, cursing when she remembers Gilbert has her things. 

"Anne," he shouts from behind her, out of breath and soaked to the bone. She wants to cry when she looks at him, wants to slap him, but she also wants to hug him, and those desires all come rushing at once and she drops the umbrella in defeat. "Was it something I said?" 

"Dr. Apple," she blurts unceremoniously, covering her mouth instantly in regret. 

He stares back at her, perplexed, brows creased and mouth agape until she can see the gears that turn in his mind and the realization that covers him. He walks closer to her now, slow, but close enough that she can see the raindrops that fall from the ends of his drenched curls. 

"Anne, I—" he starts, shaking his head as if he's reworking his approach. His hand cards through his own hair and then settles at his side in a tight fist. "This doesn't change anything for me," he declares. "I am _stupidly_ in love with you." 

The rain continues to patter down around them as she gawks at him in complete, utter shock. She was expecting him to laugh, or that he'd be angry about the whole thing, but this? This wasn't in her plan. This wasn't listed in the great Anne Shirley-Cuthbert's grand scheme of things, and it pisses her off that he's erased everything she's known to be true, ripping it up into tiny pieces. 

"Stupidly?" she scoffs, folding her arms against her chest. "What, are you going to say that it's against your better judgment and that my family sucks or something?" 

Gilbert stands there, still making no move to shield himself from the onslaught of rain. He stands there awestruck and then starts laughing— not the kind that reminds her of cool pavement and peanut butter chocolate— the kind that reeks of disappointment and anger. 

"Anne," he shouts, "life isn't _Pride and Prejudice!_ I'm not standing out here in the rain to add some dramatic effect— I'm standing here in the rain because you ran off with the umbrella, and I want you to talk to me for once!" 

"For _once_?" she yells back. "I have been talking with you for weeks! To your face, and, as we've so _amazingly_ pieced together, online." 

"But you're never honest with me. So just tell me— what do you _feel_?" he asks, laying it all out in front of them. 

She steps even closer, invading his space until their feet are touching and she can feel the heat radiating off of him, pressing her finger into his chest. 

"You _shouldn't_ be in love with me," she refutes, almost demanding. 

His mouth forms a thin line, and his nostrils flare the tiniest bit. 

"You can't argue your way into me not being in love with you— I love you, I do," and it's the most defiant she's ever seen him. He usually takes her arguments with such grace, accepts her vicious words with restraint, but here and now, he stands his ground and tells her _no._

Anne isn't expecting it, but maybe she should have. She should have seen this coming in the way he gazes at her when he thinks she's not looking and in the way he kissed her last night like he wasn't thinking for once. She can see it plainly now, as he denies her because he knows there's more under the surface, and she hates how he reads her like an open book. 

"I–" she starts, wavering under his expectant stare, and she wants to understand how he felt last night when he stopped thinking. Her feet push against the grass and she reaches up to press her lips to his before she can tell herself not to. 

The uncomfortable press of his wet clothes against hers only lasts for a moment until he wraps his arms around her waist and nearly pulls her off the ground. The anger she had been feeling throughout the entire conversation starts fizzing into something warmer, something softer that settles in every corner of her body. His initial shock only diffuses for a fleeting, addicting flash of a careful, steady pressure of his mouth on hers, when his hands drift up her torso, thumbs lingering on her ribs, before settling on her shoulders and gently pushing her off of him. 

His eyes are dark, almost brown instead of their usual bright hazel color, and he shivers. Whether it's from the cold rain or her kiss, she isn't sure. 

"You have to tell me how you feel, Anne," he breathes, voice hoarse and strained. 

The kiss had done nothing to bring her understanding, and everything to mix the confusing emotions inside until they swarm indistinguishably in her stomach and mind. She doesn't know how she feels. She doesn't ever know how she feels. Inside of her are thousands upon thousands of Annes and she never knows which one will manifest and it makes life interesting, fun, and unpredictable, but unpredictable can be scary, confusing. 

"I don't know," she admits. 

Gilbert's eyes close, and she wants to smooth out the long eyelashes that flutter against his cheek but it doesn't feel allowed. It doesn't seem like part of the invisible rules that they're both secretly following. 

He slowly removes his hands from her shoulders, letting them brush against her neck in one agonizing motion, biting his lip and nodding mildly. 

"You know where to find me when you figure it out," he says, bending down to pick up her bag and settle it into her palm, then he's gone. 

* * *

The days are lonely without DrApple and Gilbert. Mostly Gilbert, since they are, after all, one and the same. 

Anne goes through the same routine she used to go through before she let him into her life, and it's boring. She hears him live his life through their thin walls and she can't let herself back into it until she figures out just how she feels. She has to stop herself multiple times from knocking on his door to comment on the music he's listening to, or ask what he's eating for his Friday night dinner. She sees him when he goes to brush his teeth in the mornings and when he comes back from class in the afternoons, his quiet hellos do nothing to satiate the unsubsiding desire to be near him. 

She walks into all of her lecture halls as if he’ll be in there, sitting there calmly with an empty seat beside him, but the halls are Gilbert-less and it disappoints her every time.

When Anne's English Lit professor suggests they go over their Gatsby essays she thinks of him instantly. 

"Anne," the professor calls, pulling her out of her daydreams, "your essay was exceptional— would you like to discuss your thesis with the class?" 

"Actually, professor, I'd like to retract my thesis. I was wrong," she says. It comes out without warning and she wants to hole herself in the utility closet across the hall. 

He cocks his head to the side, motioning her to explain. Anne is sure he’s pleasantly surprised as she has argued with him and every single student in this class extensively every lecture. 

"Nick was in love with Gatsby," she states plainly, then she uses Gilbert's words, "I'm not as obsessed with my friends as Nick is with Gatsby." 

The girl sitting next to her chokes on her water a bit, and the rest of the class stares at her in silence. She hopes that when she turns around, Gilbert is sitting there laughing at her, but he's not. Of course, he's not. He’s probably in some bio lab, either sulking miserably or trying his best to get over her. She doesn’t want him to get over her. 

When the class is over, Anne rushes out of the room quickly. Whether it’s out of embarrassment or the need to keep moving she doesn’t know. Gilbert continues to plague her thoughts for the rest of the day without her permission, making her rethink his analysis and the hidden complexity of it. She _is_ obsessed with him— probably has been for months. The way she stayed up all night fuming about the carrots incident, the way his name kept floating around in her subconscious and she coped by starting arbitrary fights with him. He’s been rooting himself in her brain since day one, extending in every crevice until he’s all she thinks about for hours. 

She sees him in the Reese's wrapper she finds in her pocket, making her think of the smell of his detergent, standing in a crowded bus, and the busted neon sign outside of the gas station. 

She sees him in the first clear, blue skies they've seen in a week and when the sun glitters through the last, stubborn green leaves of the season. The bright, warm green makes her remember the softness of his comforter and the way she felt safe, wanted, loved, when he pressed her into it. Anne sees him in all the colors of her home and her heart. The realization of her deep obsession is intoxicating and she wonders if this is how he's been feeling. If his confession last week is true then this must be how he's been feeling. She _hopes_ that this is how he's been feeling. 

All of the logical conclusions about love she has ever made start to be proved by her own behavior. The things she felt when she watched Moody and Ruby, when she read her classic romances. She hasn't been wrong, but she hasn't been right about them either. 

For the first time in their friendship, Anne concedes that Gilbert is right. This isn't quite an obsession at all but love. 

The feelings that simmered, boiling to the point of no control inside of her, the same feelings she was so sure were hatred, weren't hatred at all but the beginnings of love. She knows this by the way they’ve spilled over her and perfectly encased her like water pouring out of a pot. Anne feels every corner of her body respond to the outpouring love; her legs move quickly towards the bus stop even though she still has one more lecture for the day; her hands are clammy, forcing her to wipe them against her jacket; her lungs feel alive and bursting as she breathes in the cold, unforgiving November air; her face is warm and most likely blanketed with color. 

The bus can’t come soon enough when she’s sure her destination is his door. 

Anne is restless as she sits on the bus, wanting to tell Gilbert what she's learned about herself— and them— immediately but she's still four stops away from their dorm. Her legs jiggle with impatience and she glares at the stoplight that just refuses to change. Every student that takes their sweet time in crossing the street is a gigantic roadblock between him and her. She can't wait any longer to unburden herself as if something will change in the next ten minutes, so she pulls her phone out and opens the school forum, entering their DMs. 

_Direct Message_

**_[floweryasc]:_ ** _Gilbert, I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now but I need to tell you now that you were right. I can't argue you out of love with me and I don't want to. I don't want you to be argued out of love because I want to join you. I am joining you. I have joined you. I love you. Stupidly, recklessly, and all the other synonyms you can possibly think of. Gilbert, you win. I'm giving you permission to screenshot those words because they're the only time you'll ever hear them in our relationship. Well, maybe that's presumptuous of me, we aren't in a relationship, but I think we should be. I'd be happy to argue with you about that but I hope you just agree._

It’s word vomit that just spills out of her and she can’t even take the time to proofread it for fear she’ll chicken out. When she presses send her hands are even more sweaty and her heart is racing. An unnatural energy spreads to every nerve, forcing her to tap her foot harder and shake in her seat a little bit. There's nowhere to put all of this new energy so she hops off the bus when there's still two stops away and runs full speed towards the dorm. There's a couple of times where she trips on her own feet, and she fumbles clumsily with her keycard multiple times. By the time she climbs up the stairs she's entirely out of breath and ready to crumple on the floor, but she's on a mission. She stares at the Mickey Mouse namedeck on his door and knocks on it. Hard. When he doesn’t answer within the first knock she adds about twenty more for good measure. 

Gilbert opens his door and takes her in slowly. He starts at the top of her, making his way down, down, until he’s staring at the mud on her sneakers. Maybe she should have looked in a mirror first because her hair must be wild, face red and wet. His phone rests in his hand and she thinks about the message that sits in there— her open, vulnerable heart and all. He must have read it because he’s slack jawed and his fingers grip the door until he's white-knuckled. 

"Did you read it?" She breaths, still gasping for air. 

He nods his head stiffly up and down, going through the motions carefully. "I got to the part where you said that I win and then you pounded on my door about a thousand times." 

"And the part about how this is the only time in our relationship I'll ever admit that?" 

The stuttering breath that Gilbert releases is a melody that she wants to put on an old record player and play on repeat until she's tired of it (she never will get tired of him). He puts his phone in his pocket and releases the death grip he has on the door, stepping forward so she has to crane her neck to look in his eyes. 

"Relationship?" He asks, voice full of hope. The hope he holds breaks her heart because she knows there have been so many times she stomped on it, ripped it up, and threw it away, but she wants to wrap all the hope she has for them so she can give it to him every day. 

"I meant what I said— I love you, stupidly, recklessly and—" 

"—and all the synonyms I can possibly think of?" Gilbert finishes with a smile. "How about... carelessly?" 

She nods, "yes." 

"Foolishly?" 

"I'm the biggest fool around," she shrugs happily, laughing at the goofy grin on his face. The lightness of the moment almost doesn’t match the gravity of it all, like she hasn’t spent the last week crying in her pillow and missing him desperately. 

"Uh, what about—"

" _Enough!"_ Josie yells, slamming her door closed and stomping down the hall. "I'm going to go drink until I forget about this conversation— you guys are literally some of the most annoying people I have ever met." 

Anne sticks her tongue out at the blonde, while Gilbert simply laughs. There’s a soft and still second where they're pulled out of each other’s orbit and forced to recognize they aren’t the only people in the hall. The moment between them recharges when he reaches out to grab her hand, tracing each and every line on her palm like the branches of a tree. When he lifts his eyes from her hand there’s this satisfied flash that melts her insides just a bit— or maybe a lot. 

“Are you going to make me convince you that we should be in a relationship?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Convince me?” He echos, shaking his head with a chuckle, “Anne, all you have to do is just say the word.”

“The word,” she whispers, holding his hand in return, thumb sweeping over his in slow circles. 

"Do you want to come in?" He asks, pulling her hand closer. 

"Yes," she says emphatically, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to Chilis, oop, I mean the end.
> 
> I also want to thank my real life friend Anne who is such an inspiration. Seriously, so many of my ideas come from our conversations. I love her dearly, and she is the Anne and Gilbert whisperer, AND she hasn't even SEEN THE SHOW!! 
> 
> Send good vibes, I'm recovering from surgery, but I love you all a million times over and needed to post this as soon as I could. I hope with all my heart you like this. 
> 
> chill with me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/gilbertjpeg)
> 
> send me questions on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/pyrobaku)


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